Confession
My life is nonexistent. Everyday bears a bigger burden of stress than the former, the weight slowly edging me forward towards the day where I can support it no longer. From day one I had hoped that my mind would eventually adapt to this unfortunate change, but the time has long since passed the days where I possessed such hopes. I am forced to remain in what is deemed by my captors to be a room; I fail to understand how they can define it be so. Its length and width allow only the entirety of my body to lay across. They keep me to a horrid routine of solitary confinement; something which a being who finds pleasure in the interaction with others suffers greatly from. I would have assumed that they fail to understand that such restrictions is not good for my health, but with the grave accounts of the avoidance of such an issue taken into consideration, I have made the conclusion that they simply do not care. My isolation is broken by only one hour of some pathetic experience which they insist is recreation. Although I am separated from the others during such wondrous activities, I am monitored by my captors. This does, in some form of pathetic desperation, provide me with some sense of ease. My clothing during such events is decent, clothes that cover the entirety of my body, binds upon my legs, but at least I can taste some tiny semblance of what I had long since forgotten, that being freedom. During the other 23 hours of my private hell, I am bathed in restraints just like my other fellow brothers and sisters who are also held hostage. Crude gags upon our mouths, binds around our hands and feet, and very much more which cannot exhibit description. Despite all of their attempts, and even some of my own, it has never become truly routine. My crime is clad in the worst kind of irony, one that is made so blatantly obvious that it almost disturbs you when you think about it; like a bad joke that made you shake in repulsion. I am one of them, or, I was. I was one with them, they who make me subject to their punishment. Although they carry out their duty which is bound by code, I still observe the sympathy upon their faces, the expressions of a connection which they share with me and me alone. They know I was among them at a time, and they give unto me their brotherly and subtle empathy. My wrongdoing is birthed in the very core of my being. It is buried in the very fiber of who I am. With that in mind, there is nothing in my power which can alter it. I am simply a puppet of my own mind which carries out the forbidden, the forbidden which they themselves carry out without condemnation. This is in itself a paradox, but despite the brutal honesty that it brings with it, I am sure that many fail to fully understand its depth. Indeed, from the days of my adolescence I was suffocated by its nature, from my earliest days of meaning I was attracted by its field. I felt that I was meant to be entangled in its shrouded vines, covered by the cloth of ignorance which leads to the failure of penetration by reason, logic, or any sense of understanding. We all knew what we were immersing ourselves in was unwanted, shunned, wrong. Despite this, all of us proceeded to go forward with our “career”. With this commitment, we all committed to the ways of darkness. We committed ourselves to the kidnapping of the helpless or of the unwanted. We pledged our allegiance to the promise that we would hold such persons hostage, and largely for our own benefit. All of us gave the oath that he or she would do what need be to keep our prisoners in their suffering until our satisfaction was met. The cause for our determination to do so could be explained to be due to various reasons. Some of us found the money which it gave us to be good enough of a reason. Surely, the field of which we align ourselves with can prove to have great monetary compensation for our troubles. Others, on the other hand, their reason is not so excusable. Although this reason, being simple and lacking in complexity, explains a good portion of our motivation, it does not, in any way, lessen the cruelty that it reveals about those who bear it. This reason is because some people simply enjoy it. These causes have not been anything new, to be sure. Since almost the dawn of man have people like us been around. Despite our existence of great longevity, our methods of which we function in society have changed little. Our methods are what you might expect from those who kidnap, take them and confine them in chains. For most cases they stay in chains until their hearts beat no more, for although most kidnappers find decent reason to release their hostages, we are picky ones indeed when it comes to release. It has only been in recent years that our horrid nature has become the subject of concern amongst the general populace. I find it interesting how these days there is the “Amber Alert” and all other things, yet we have never been pestered by such things. We make sure to keep our victims where no one can get to them. Even if they did place a silly alert on one of our victims, it would be stupid to suggest that such things would prove helpful. They may be able to find them, but getting them out of our firm grip, well, that’s another story. It’s indeed strange to think that only up until recent years, the ‘80’s or ‘90’s perhaps, that people really began to really look at the issue and say to themselves “It’s worse than we thought”. For most of our history, people seemed to almost look at it as a family issue, if your relative was taken by us to never be seen again, it was sad; it was sad but nothing more. It was almost as if they trusted us to take care of them, to treat them properly, we who kidnap for money or for sadistic pleasure. We? It’s simply foolish. Of course, with these days, with reformation on how society looks at our kidnappings and what not, it’s very hard to carry them out anymore. People have finally shined a giant spotlight on the issue, and we are indeed the darkness which flees it. Some people in our profession remember a better time. If you have in any sense been caught in a surprised manner by our ability to kidnap and capture without others batting an eyelash for the longest of time, what if I told you a crazier tale? What if I told you that there are people who support our work? What if I told you that there are high-ranking officials all over the world who deliberately turn their attention elsewhere, even if the public cries out for it to be focused on? Although the commoner has seen the light, the ones in charge still live in darkness, or at least midst a thick cloud of apathy which fails to be the harbinger of light in any sense, much like the sparks from a lighter. Perhaps it is in this sense why we haven’t been pushed off of the face of the Earth entirely. In parts of the world, especially third-world countries, our practices are still very much applied. With a big demand for business, how would it not provide subsistence? So yes, we are very much still out there in the world, doing our deeds which must be done by the code which we have bound ourselves by. Perhaps I should move onto treatment. We do treat our hostages decently, well, as decent as gagged and restrained prisoners. We provide them with only what is needed for basic survival. We’re supposed to make sure that we pick guards who won’t get too cocky and kill them outright, as we do want our money’s worth, but there have been cases of death, and many cases of harmful punishment. It’s also strange how in this business you can actually learn to abuse. In this type of environment, an environment which we are put in almost every day, it can make you want to abuse them, you know? They’re such a hassle to take care of, they usually take every attempt they can to counter our attempts at controlling them in any way they can, even in passive ones. Despite the fact that without them all of us would be, well, who knows, perhaps living a normal life free of crime, despite that fact, many of us love to abuse them; even a little bit. Beatings are common here, it’s a strange day when someone hasn’t been beaten for making an incident. Our methods of torture, as it is the practice that subdues them the most, have evolved little over the centuries. Ice torture, beatings, even giving them a little stun with electricity. It’s all made to subdue them so that we can keep them. I do know on one account that a man was left unattended until he starved to death, but most of the time that doesn’t happen. I’m fed decently. I do have gags over my mouth most of the time and I am tied up most of the time, but at least I’m not starving. The best part is that I’m not subject to beatings though, for as long as you don’t make too much noise, you’ll be just fine. My experience so far as being a hostage is concerned has been largely uneventful. You don’t really have any way to move around on your own, your greatest way to pass the time is by playing mental games. With that in mind, you may be wondering how I’m writing this. Well, it’s simple, there are a select few who are trusted enough to where they’re able to use their arms and hands. They’re still tied together, but you can use them. I was lucky, for they knew they could trust me to some extent because of my previous affiliation with them. It wasn’t that I betrayed them that landed me here. My crime, besides being born with a desire like all the others, was simply going too far. I compromised the safety of our profession, I made it to where the repercussions would be harsh and unforgiving. None of us knew if even our supporters on high would be able to save us from my wrong doing. I was the one who turned on the spotlight, and now the darkness continues to operate, continuously licking its wounds in the foggy mist of the unseen. I do regret my crime, just as I regret the crimes of even getting involved. Yes, indeed, this is the purpose of these writings. They are not only a confession of evil, but a confession of regret for the evil which I have personally committed against others. I wish to make my remorse known! No one will ever read this, for these writings must never be found out, but perhaps I can ease my mind somewhat by writing out what would be presented. I only have three regrets. The first one is ever getting involved in this whole mess the first place, the second is being born with a desire to do these things. The third, is, well… Please, listen to me! If you take anything from this, I pray and beg that it be this! We are still out in this world, we are still doing our business! People will tell you that we are gone, that the days of our kidnappings and torture sessions have long since brushed over, but they are wrong, they are wrong! We still exist! It may not be in the same place, not the same country, but we still inhabit this world and we still abuse the people of this world. Our ways are kept out of sight and therefore out of mind. I do not blame you if you have never heard about the continuing of our practices, for barely anyone knows that isn't one of us themselves. Please, I beg that you do all in your power to stop us, that anyone and everyone will do anything in their power to stop us and what we still continue to do! I have realized my purpose, for even in the confines of this tiny cell, I can still speak my mind, and my mind has been reborn into a messenger that fails to speak. My only purpose that I've yet to achieve, that I must achieve, is that I must bring the news of the bad to bring about the change of the good. This will indeed be a daunting task. I cannot help but feel that it is already too late for such hopes, and yet I have no hope left but to try and pray to God. Despite by new-found purpose, I indeed cannot help but wish I had never gotten myself into my profession, into a profession who prospers off of the kidnapping and suffering of others. I am not one of them, for many years I was blind, but I see the evil and the cruelty which is allowed to exist, for most are ignorant. Despite my new quest, I cannot help but wish that my path of evil had never existed, and dare I say that my path of life had never existed. I should have never become a Psychiatrist Category:Mental Illness